Qhuinn waved the concern off in his classic, nothing-doing kind of way. On a rasp, he said, "S'okay. "
"What made you go out there against him?"
"Wrath. . . was hit. . . knew Xcor's ego - he'd have to be. . . " Big breath, one that rattled on its way out. ". . . the guy to prevent the king from leaving. Bastard had to. . . had to be incapacitated. . . or Wrath would never. . . "
"Have gotten out of there alive. " Blay rubbed the back of his neck. "Holy shit - you saved the king's life. "
"Nah. . . lot of people. . . did that. "
Yeah, he wasn't so sure about that. Back at Assail's, it had been total chaos - the kind of out-of-control that easily cut both ways: had the Band of Bastards not retreated shortly after the Brotherhood arrived, there would have been heavy losses on both sides.
Staring down at Qhuinn, he had to wonder what kind of shape Xcor was in. If he looked like this? The bastard was at least the same, probably worse.
Blay shook himself, aware that he had been standing at the edge of the bed in silence. "Ah. . . "
Back long ago, a lifetime ago, there had never been silences between them. Except. . . they had been boys then. Not fully transitioned males.
Different standard, he supposed.
"I guess I should leave you," he said. Without leaving.
This could so easily have gone a different way, he thought. Xcor's ability to kill was well-known - not by Blay personally, but he'd heard the stories from the Old Country. Besides, for chrissakes, anyone with enough balls not only to talk about going against Wrath, but to actually put a bullet in the king?
Deadly or stupid. And the latter didn't count in this case.
Qhuinn could easily have been hit by a lot more than multiple fists.
"Can I get you anything?" Blay said. Except, duh, the guy couldn't eat, and he'd already been fed.
Layla had taken care of that.
Man, if he was brutally honest with himself - and it seemed as if brutally was the word of the day - there were times when he resented the Chosen, even though that was a colossal waste of emotion. He had no right to feel cranked, especially given what he and Saxton got up to on a very regular basis. Especially given that nothing was going to change on Qhuinn's side.
You almost died tonight, he wanted to say. You dumb son of a bitch, you nearly died. . . and then what would we have done?
And not "we" as in the Brotherhood.
Not even "we" as in he and John. More like. . . "me. "
Shit, why did he keep coming back to this corner with this male?
It was just too stupid. Particularly as he stood over the guy, watching as more color came into that mangled face, and his breathing grew less labored, and the bruising faded even further. . . all thanks to Layla.
"I'd better go," he said, without leaving.
That one eye, the blue one, just kept staring up at him. Bloodshot, with a cut across the brow above it, the thing shouldn't have been able to focus. But it was.
"I have to go," Blay said finally.
Without leaving.
Damn him, he didn't know what the hell he was doing -
A tear escaped from that eye. Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn't hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.
Blay wanted to kick himself in his own ass. "Shit, let me get Doc Jane - you must be in pain. I'll be right back. "
Qhuinn called out his name, but he was already turning away.